Bibliophile
by Val-Creative
Summary: RitsukaxSoubi. AU. "There's no point in wondering what will happen after I die." Multichaptered. Mystery. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

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_Bibliophile_

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_Chapter One_

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_Virginia Wolfe: a critical memoir … Tsar Mao: bibliography by Cedric Wills—_

"…hey, isn't that _him_?"

"…who are you talking about? You mean 'Love-Less' over there? What about him?"

_Anton Chekhov…. Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach… Wisława Szymborska—_

"….is it true what they say about him around school? He really doesn't leave the library?"

_T.S. Eliot—_

"…_I _heard he loves books, like _really _loves them. I heard from a senior that he caught him…_you know_… doing… _THINGS… _to one…"

_Ando…Hiroshige—_

Wine-colored eyes glued to the tanned dog-ear page of his paperback thinned as his eyelids lowered. He couldn't suppress the mild shudder of irritation as one of the girls from the cluster of high school students by the exit doors expressed her disgust with a high-strung shriek at the top of her lungs.

"…**_EWWWW_**! _Shioiri-kun! That's **SOOO **GROSS!_"

Thinly bandaged fingers identical to pale of the skin on the back of his hand slid tensing over the glossy cover of his book.

"You do realize that this is a public library, right? If you are going to be deliberately loud, it would seem more appropriate to continue it by going outside where you can't distract other people who are studying for exams," the teenage boy scooped a short clump of his dark hair behind his ear, still softly addressing his now shell-shocked classmates, "It would be the polite thing to do. Don't you have parents to teach you these values?"

As the others braced themselves to make a quick retreat, indefinitely terrified that their normally dead silent classmate had directed a full sentence_— _let alone _several—_ to them, the girl who had shrieked now stared at him, tugging earnestly on a floss pink pigtail gathered at the side of her head.

"_U-uh_…what's your name?"

The impression of the anxiety for her social standing_— _and that _noble risk_ of talking to him_—_ it trickled over him like a honeyed, impalpable waterfall. Silly-minded curiosity _— a bit of sexual attraction too—_ those expressions from the opposite sex were nothing new to him (despite his unpopularity, occasionally a brave young woman would scan their ambitious gaze over his face, drawn to the silk texture of his black hair and the rare color of his eyes).

Keeping his paperback open to the same crinkled page he had been blindly staring at since the gossip near the exit doors caught his range of hearing, the teenage boy glanced to where she lingered for an answer, fitting an artificially wide grin on his lips.

"Love-Less."

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_It's considered impossible for a living person to 'fall in love' with an inanimate object such as a book…even the ones with questionable sanity…if even such a stupid thing as 'romantic love' exists anyway…_

Remaining in the same standing position, facing the shelves Ritsuka had been in since arriving_— _the sixteen-year-old flipped into another book, sinking more and more comfortably into numbness of his surroundings. From a shelf high above him, a periwinkle-colored leatherbound textbook shifted precariously as the teen's elbow thudded against the heavy wood of the 160 stack.

_…if they truly believe that…then I feel sorry for them._

A sudden, intruding shadow collapsed over his reading light. Cocking an eyebrow at the darkened words on the page, he slowly turned around.

One of the newer librarians_— must have been_, he had never seen someone so young working here, or for that matter so _blond— _smirked down on him wordlessly. He safely clasped the purplish-blue textbook embroidered in reddish, satin string in one hand, a few inches from Ritsuka's head.

**_FATE_**.

With his steady hand, the tall, blond foreigner stretched up to insert the book back into its empty space, and then buttoned the loosened flaps of his green shirt sleeve. One of the silver-like cuff links winked against the light from a nearby window. Ritsuka narrowed his eyes at the strange shape they were.

"You should be careful next time, Ritsuka."

Not sure if he was annoyed at the fact that the librarian was three inches too close to his personal bubble, or the total disregard for honorifics (thus proving his suspicions that the man couldn't be familiar with Japanese customs), the younger student actually became aware of his face contorting into an outraged frown.

"That's a scary look," the blond man said cheerfully, letting out a low, amused breath.

_What the hell?_

Ritsuka was almost persuaded to sneer pointedly at him but instead attempted to lessen the emotion in his frown without caving in on his displeasure. "How do you know my name?"

Almond shaped eyes_— _the color for the irises easily mistaken for the exact copy of the leather textbook_— _crinkled at him behind stylishly crooked glasses. He hooked his long fingers into his ash-blond high ponytail. Ritsuka thought for a moment that it had looked too feminine for someone with a masculine figure. "Ritsuka comes here often. It's extremely difficult to miss you on a school day."

_That didn't answer my question…_

"It's rude to hover over someone when they are trying to read," Ritsuka snapped.

"What did those kids call you, Ritsuka? A nickname?" The librarian asked seriously, leaning down closer and gripping the shelf above Ritsuka's head. The teenager did not approve of this current situation or with the fact that his back was beginning to ache from steeling back so firmly on the ridges of the stack behind him just so he could avoid any human contact.

"_Listen—_ I didn't give you permission to call me by my first name_— _I don't even know you. _Secondly_," purple eyes flashed heatedly as Ritsuka's voice cracked once from its usually monotonic quality, "what does it matter to you what they call me? I don't believe in fighting back over stupid things or calling anyone else names. It's pointless."

"It still hurts your feelings."

Ritsuka countered that statement, the secure emptiness of a facial expression and the blockade of his emotions drifting sweetly into place, "I'm considerately adequate at not feeling anything at all."

"If that is what makes you happy, Ritsuka."

The blond librarian finally removed himself at the deadpan look. "If you need anything, I'll be downstairs." Managing that handsome smirk.

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Once Ritsuka was alone, he slapped his paperback shut before lifting himself up by the tiptoes of his sneakers to reach for the periwinkle-colored book.

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_TBC..._

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_WELCOME TO MY BRAND NEW ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE, EVERYONE! NO CAT EARS! (Or will there be...?) EVERYONE IS STRANGERS! (Or are they...?)  
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_You will just have to continue reading on to find out. ;D __Loveless and all of its characters belong to the infamous **Yun Kouga** who I will hunt down and persuade to draw dirty, dirty pictures involving Ritsuka and Soubi. And the Zero Girls. Because they are made of love and yuri and win. _

_And you can blame/thank** Yet Another Yaoi Fan Girl** for pushing me to start this. She's been a real trooper waiting on my ass so you get the **dedication**, sweetheart. I think most of the Loveless characters are featured here. This originally was suppose to be a smutty standalone about library sex but my muse wanted sex AND plot. Greedy, isn't she? No sex yet. Aw. I know. Sad day. Give it time. Wait until the fourth chapter. Or so. I have lots and lots of mystery to be built up for this here story. And just so everyone knows: all book titles and authors are **MADE UP**_._ I'm not stealing anyone's work. Everyone has their respected rights intact. Any type of comments or suggestions/criticism is welcomed here._


	2. Chapter 2

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_Bibliophile_

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_Chapter Two_

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_Somehow he knew_... Ritsuka _knew _that _**FATE **_was stupid.

What a waste of time.

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There's not much to do or learn in school that couldn't be found elsewhere, he thought to himself on the way out of the brick front entrance_—_ social interaction might come in handy sometimes depending on your occupation, yes, but Ritsuka wondered _if perhaps_— death might be more interesting.

More morbidly interesting than the constant repetition of pounding, dense rubber and heels on aging and black-streaked tile linoleum, the screeching metal legs and rungs of desk chairs, and the collective roar of his fellow classmates and teachers muddled by caffeine and hormones and stress.

What a waste of space.

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"You've got that look on your face again."

Out by the gates of the local evening cram school, an older looking male with a red and white college jersey blew some cigarette smoke in his direction. Ritsuka wrinkled his nose, waving the remnants from his air space. "What look?" The male asked placidly.

"That look you get when you've had a really crappy day," Ritsuka said wryly.

Kio_—_ with his freshly clipped and dyed-to-a-light-green-color hair_—_ silently smiled with his lips pressed firmly against the end of his _Winston_. He started twirling the white stick of an unwrapped lollipop against his fingers. Ritsuka eyed the repeated motion. "Then what happened to you today?" The younger pressed.

"_Nothing_…" Kio replied, noticing this after a moment, and slipped the lollipop in his front jean pocket.

"You only smoke when you are depressed."

As they walked together down the sidewalk, away from the streaming crowd of Ritsuka's rowdy and lively classmates, the green haired man sighed defeated, "The nice little virgin teacher I've been seeing decided to dump me for her lady psychiatrist. I didn't even _know_ she was _going_ to a psychiatrist!" Kio muttered, playing with one of the ten silver hoop earrings in his left ear, "Cheating bitch."

"...Okay."

Kio's eyebrows lowered almost behind his oval-shaped glasses, as he said, "You see…_ THAT _as a comment from my best friend doesn't exactly cut it, you know? I understand that it's hard for you since you have a heart made of cold, hard glass…" The comment had not been spoken with ill intent. Kio simply loved to tease Ritsuka about how he could cared less about relationships.

The younger smirked, feeling the pleasurable strain on his face. "When it happens every week…it's hard to feel sympathy for you…"

"I do have good news though! I think I met someone fun in my art class this morning!" Kio chirped, throwing away his half demolished cigarette into a garbage bin they passed with a grand flourish and unwrapping the foil to his lollipop. "New guy. Great with Japanese art. His painting skills are _insanely_... amazing, ah... I can't even describe it right, Ritsuka; you would have to see him at work! I haven't seen talent like this in a while…and he's got this weird obsession with butterflies… _—_"

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_He stretched up to push the purplish-blue book back into the empty space on the book shelf. The blond man smiled down on him gently, handsomely, and looked down to his own wrists. _

_He began buttoning the butterfly-shaped cuff links of his shirt sleeves._

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"…_whoa_, Ritsuka, are you feeling alright?" Kio caught him in a half-swoon.

The dull, prickling feeling behind Ritsuka's eyes sank away slowly. His vision lightened, sharpened from the darkness that had gripped the edges. The green-haired man gripped harder onto the Ritsuka's arm, bringing his other hand up under his armpit in case his body fell backwards. "You're shaking. Are you going to be sick?" Kio said.

"_No…_" Blotches of pink embarrassment went up his cheeks.

Ritsuka hated having to worry Kio like that whenever he started daydreaming so violently. Daydreaming shouldn't feel like that. Like it threatened to split his head open.

Kio did not let him go and his blue eyes changed suddenly into a look of suspicion on him. "...You're not going to take my advice and talk to someone about this, are you?"

"Probably not."

"In any case, we're here." Kio let him go, leading the way towards his destination. The elevated gray-cement steps on Ritsuka's right led up to the large, decorative glass doors of the public library. Ritsuka clenched his jaw. _Dammit. The last place he wanted to be right now._

"I need a textbook for class tomorrow. It will only be a couple minutes inside," Kio said with an acknowledging wave, entering through the doors.

_Couple minutes of hell_.

As he went ahead without him, Ritsuka debated whether or not to follow inside. He supposed it would be the polite thing to do. But it's not what Ritsuka was required to go. It wasn't _his _textbook. And he _didn't_ have to do anything he didn't want to do... right?

"How very right you are, Ritsuka."

Appearing beside him, a tall, male librarian with a blond high ponytail peered over at him with a sunny smile. Ritsuka stumbled back, holding in a gasp_. _

_The hell…? _

He realized after a moment that he had spoken his thought out loud for the entire world to hear him.

The man's periwinkle-colored eyes warmed as he asked, "Here to do homework? I'm on the clock now. If you decide that you need any help... I'll be working downstairs tonight until closing_—_"

"_—__—_I'm waiting for someone." Ritsuka frowned pointedly at the man. _Why _was he so insistent? And why was he out _here _if he was working?

The teenager shifted uncomfortably. A small cigarette hung out of the corner of the blond's long mouth as he reached in his purple fur coat for a lighter. Secretly out of the corner of his eye, Ritsuka watched the man light up, unintentionally focusing on the yellow-gold highlights of his crooked glasses and the glow from the flame reflected in his pupils….his irises were such a…_pretty_…color…

"_SOUBIIIII_!"

Kio flew out of nowhere down the cement steps, shouting the name and beaming at the librarian. Ritsuka dodged him in time as his best friend barreled into Soubi's space, throwing an open arm around his shoulders. "You are actually _AWAY_ from a canvas? What are you doing here with my buddy, Sou-chan? Flirting with him? Didn't know you had a thing for kids..."

Ritsuka scowled deeply at Kio as the man named Soubi chuckled lowly, muttering, "You're an idiot." Ritsuka's skin began to form into tiny knobs from the deep laughter. It was a very musical and masculine noise. He rubbed his arms irritably.

"Kio, you have homework… and _you_," Ritsuka complained, glancing sharply at the blond man, "have work."

"No need to get so testy, Rit-chan, I was only kidding." Kio tucked his arm into Ritsuka's and waved merrily to Soubi who shrugged, going for the library's entrance silently, "_Byebye! See you in class_!"

As they rounded the block for the heart of the apartment buildings, he elbowed the younger, asking, "So...what was that, Ritsuka? Back there, you looked like you've swallowed something nasty." Ritsuka ripped his arm from Kio's, leaving the older looking outwardly a bit miffed.

"I should go home before the streetlamps turn on."

"It's only six."

"My aunt doesn't like it when I am late."

Dark blue eyes trailed over Ritsuka's heavily bandaged hand resting at his sides. "You think I don't know this..." Kio's darkened expression on the bandages quickly faded into a familiar, friendly smile as he patted his friend's shoulder consolingly, "Then you're coming over tomorrow to finish _Septimal Moon_...you only _think _you have a choice in the matter..."

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_"You're not going to take my advice and talk to someone about this, are you?"_

Kio was worried. That was understandable.

Daydreaming doesn't hurt you.

(_It doesn't hurt like that._)

It would make his aunt worry more. Everyone would worry more.

Worry. _Worry_. **_Worry_**.

...he could not do what Kio wanted.

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"_Ritsuka, I missed you_..."

She said this, tightening the ropes binding his arms behind him to one of the wooden kitchen chairs, tears running freely down her face. Her dark purplish eyes blinked frantically. Her hair had loosened from her ponytail. Several long, jet-black strands sticking to the moisture on her cheeks. His aunt petted Ritsuka's hair soothingly between her small slender fingers smelling strongly of rice and spices.

"_Why were you gone for so long_...?"

"I'm sorry." She needed his love. She needed to calm down. She needed him here to do it since her son and her husband were not there to help him. Ritsuka smiled kindly up at her, closing his eyes as her cool fingers stroked his temple, repeating the mantra, "I'm sorry."

"_I'm teaching you a lesson, my little Ritsuka. Those people out there can hurt you. They will hurt you..._" Misaki whispered, picking up a cutting knife from the tabletop in front of Ritsuka, running the tip over the line of his jaw and leaving a tiny, weeping red line. She raised it again, her tears landing on the material of his shirt._ "And they will hurt you..._"

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_TBC..._

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_Loveless belongs to a very special lady in all of our hearts: **Yun Kouga**. Where is my newest chapter? Huh? Misaki is a sick woman, isn't she? I really do pity her. Oh, dear sweet revenge could be possible, oh yes. SOUBI- RESCUE RITSUKA PLEASE! -cuddles butterfly pillow she named after her favorite Fighter- Oh, and I cannot write crazyCRAZY torture and/or rape and/or mutilation fics. So no worries there. This is suppose to be more of a psychological fear story. Based on everything that's been going on at my end...I am damn surprised I even had an update. Don't get excited for an early one. If I am EFFING LUCKY I will have one early in September. Sorry. That's how life rolls. And I hate it. T.T Bless you reviewers and readers! You are the only ones giving me sanity now...  
_


	3. Chapter 3

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_Bibliophile_

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_Chapter Three_

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_My dearest Ritsuka,_

_There isn't a time I am not thinking about you. If you were to ask my colleagues— they would assume that I was admiring some distant lover far off from here. In a way, you are like that to me. I do admire you, Ritsuka. For your strength. For your intelligence. For your beauty. For the memories I have of us together._

_One day, I will come for you, Ritsuka. And then everything will be right again._

_All my love,_

_Seimei_

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On the park sidewalk across the street-walk he crossed on the way home, Ritsuka saw the creature's carcass.

Clearly... it had been stepped on by something much bigger (_—and crueler, almost certainly a kid's sneaker) _and the butterfly looked so miserable in death, one of its uniquely-colored wings stretched upwards as if still feebly protesting against the attack done onto it. He stared at it numbly for a moment longer, standing between the grass and the sidewalk. The butterfly itself was a mixture of metallic blue and purple hairs, echoing those colors in his buzzing vision against the afternoon hot sunlight.

_It was just a butterfly…_

But... _somehow_... guessing this so involuntarily made his stomach coil slowly into an awful, greasy knot… it was _malicious _judgment of this now deceased creature…

Ritsuka squeezed his eyes shut as the space between them prickled uncomfortably and his sinuses fogged. He clapped his hands over his face, clenching his teeth as his ears pressurized—

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_A man with a red — and white jacket — sunglasses — Kio — the paramedics are stomping onto the lawn — but he **HAD **to finish before his aunt came outside— **HAD **to finish__ or she would become upset— __ and Kio holds his bloody arm with his hands tightened__,__ his eyes glittering fiercely behind his lenses._

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_"This is your cousin **Seimei**." His smiling aunt points to the blocky, black picture frame over the fireplace— a fit, dark-haired man gazes at his audience confidently — "You'll be tall just like him, one day, Ritsuka."_

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_Something **silver **— flashing — dazzlingly._

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_The ballooning pain ingrained in his body seems to lessen somewhat. But his internal temperature seems to sky-rocket as a soft, heedful hand massages the skin on his bare, cool stomach. The more sensitive skin much lower warms and hardens as his eyes roll back in arousal. He cannot identify the person attached to this hand but understands what is happening feels…**good**._

_The small, silver butterfly earrings in pale-colored ears flash._

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Ritsuka crouched down on one knee and one hand flat to the park's grass. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, soaking his goldenrod, jersey collar.

Sluggishly, the dazed teenager rose back on his feet, oblivious to a passing female jogger ogling. At the same moment, he heard someone call for him. Kio waved to him from the street-walk as he dodged a passing silver car that swerved him and honked aggravated, his eyes zoned in on both of Ritsuka's bandaged hands and the white sterile patch taped on his left cheek as he walked up. His mouth twitched but Kio said nothing about them as the older man smiled slightly at his friend.

"I was wondering where you ran off to without me..."

"I'm fine," Ritsuka said lowly, automatically. His ears had stopped ringing. That was a good sign.

"I didn't ask. What's with the letter?"

Ritsuka smoothed out the crumples— how his damp palms blurred some of the penciled words— and his trembling fingers did not help the situation. The younger cleared his throat, folding the slip of paper into his jean pocket. "Nothing special," he lied, hoping he could get home soon to fix the smeared, precious words.

Kio's smile widened as he slung an arm around the boy's neck, steering them both down the street and sing-songed, _"Sooo…_ I got you a _jooooob~."_

"Excuse me?"

"A job, silly; something you'll be paid to do! You aren't involved in anything in your high school and it will look bad on you, you know…. and since you spend all your free time at the library anyway, it won't be a huge change from your routine…" Ritsuka paled as Kio added with a gleeful chuckle, "Don't look at me like that. You should be thanking me! You are damn lucky I have connections," he clapped the teen's shoulder, "Now you have a _real _excuse not to come over to my apartment…"

The dark-haired boy recovered, sneering disdainfully, "You just don't want me to stay home."

For the briefest moments, Kio's smile darkened with satisfaction. And as if never happened, the green-haired man said cheekily, continuing to steer them to the apartment complexes, _"But don't think you are getting away with an excuse THIS week! Nuh-uh-uh, buddy! We are SO playing videogames until curfew hits!"_

"Whatever."

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In fear of a tarnished repetition considering the library's records— _flat out refusing the interview wasn't possible now that he was there in person_— Ritsuka stood inside the front doors, fiddling with the fat wood buttons and the twine on his burgundy wool jacket… just hoping that the person to see him wasn't, _wasn't_…

"Aoyagi Ritsuka?" A wrinkled woman he had seen before working in one of the bigger offices behind the Circulation Desk— always with dress-suit on, gray-streaked braid to the middle of her back, and beaded glasses— smiled at him from the second floor staircase. Ritsuka's heart warmed just a little at the motherliness of it.

"You must be him," she admitted coming down those stairs, staring longer at his face carefully and blandly, "I was told by the other staff that you would be a boy with very lovely purple eyes."

He gave her a slight head tilt in acknowledgment—very much use to this compliment from older women. "Thank you for the opportunity to be interviewed on short notice for you."

"Oh goodness, you are so polite! That is most certainly refreshing to see in you younger kids," she said. The wrinkled woman chuckled, directing him to a quiet room with decorative sofas and armchairs. The white sign over the entrance read: _Gammon Room. Please Keep Quiet_. He vaguely remembered coming in to hide from his louder classmates. And the obvious stares he seemed to acquire. Her fern green eyes then examined him sternly when Ritsuka sat in a chair across from her. "Oh my… where did you get those injuries, Aoyagi-kun?"

Unconsciously, his fingers slipped over his face bandage. But Ritsuka smiled fakely, brightly at her. "Have a lot of people been asking for this job today, Librarian-san?"

"Not many, in fact." She adjusted the clipboard over her lap, raising a sculpted eyebrow at his evasive comment but did not press the matter. "And you may address me as Miura-san if you wish to. This will be a relatively informal interview."

"Let us get straight to business, shall we…. Tell me a little about yourself Aoyagi-kun…"

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When Ritsuka finally got home, he ignored all text messages and phone calls from Kio. He locked his bedroom door, ignoring his aunt's persistent questions from the bottom of the staircase landing and then the eventual high-pitched screams, and flinched curled up on his mattress when what sounded like dinner clattered banging on the kitchen floor. Ritsuka glared openly at the square plastic object on his desk, as if all the irritated and anxious feelings he were experiencing had been its purposeful doing.

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_"A worker named Soubi?" His interviewer mused, tapping her fountain pen to the corner of her interview sheet and clipboard, "Agatsuma Soubi was recently hired. I got a call from him this afternoon that he wasn't feeling well enough to make his shift for the evening hours or for the next morning." She never noticed how the boy's eyes lit with triumph upon hearing this._

_"Oh," said Ritsuka, "My best friend has classes with him and was wondering..."_

_"He did leave something at my desk for you."_

_The teenager's eyebrows shot up in alarm. The librarian got up for her office and returned a minute later with a sealed plastic ear piercer and two silver metal earrings the shape of butterflies. He swallowed hard, cupping them in his own hands, mortified as his face burned and as her green eyes studied him intently, embarrassed as well as politely confused._

_"Agutsuma-san said you would know what to do with them."_

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To _hell_ he knew what to do with them! _What_ was with this new guy?

He stretched over his mattress to toss the piercer into the trash bin by his computer. It landed at the bottom with a satisfying _clunk_. And then he reached for the earrings sitting patiently and gleaming on his homework, and hesitated.

Releasing a tensed breath, Ritsuka rolled over to flip off his lamp, burrowing under his blankets, stomach and libido complaining.

He hated the dreams that followed, dwindling with shards of an irrationally _tender_ love involving the dizzy color of periwinkle.

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_TBC..._

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_Again,** Yun Kouga** owns all of Loveless. Blah-de-blah. GUESS WHO GOT SICK FOR A WHOLE WEEK? MEEEE! I think I have been through the full range of coughing/dry throat/sore throat/gunk in lungs/cold symptoms/head cold/headaches/sinus pressure/sinus headache/runny nose/fever/aches/chills/zero energy. Yes. All of those. I'm drowning my sorrows in Tylenol Cold nighttime. I don't think I have much to add for this author's note. Except bitching about being sick. xDD And no one wants to hear that. OH! I do want to **thank my new favorite-rs and all my beautiful reviewers**! You've been so patient for this update! Really! You deserve the (not contagious, hopefully) love from me! -luffluffluff- And the next update, my guess, will be late this month or early next. Keep an eye on my bio. Any **questions **about the structure of the story / characters in the story / in general... please feel free to ask me! And **reviews **are great ways to cheer me up in my ultra diseased state! T.T  
_


	4. Chapter 4

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_Bibliophile_

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_Chapter Four_

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"I see you have brought the letter again this weekend, Ritsuka."

He corrected the woman speaking, glancing back up at the chessboard tile-ceiling from his position stretched out limply on the long, plaid divan, "That was the one from three months ago. This is a new one." His long-legged psychiatrist stifled a wide, knowing smile at his sharp tone behind one of her scented hands—_that liked to linger a few seconds too much on the small of his back when greeting him_.

"…is it now?" Amusement could not resist lacing her grainy, womanly voice, "Where did you find this one?"

"The same place before. I use to hide there in the summer right outside the city when my aunt kicked me out of our apartment," Ritsuka said, now glancing at the folded piece of paper with softened eyes. (_But_.) "I use to tell Seimei about it all the time. I use to write him letters all the time at that square. I don't know whether or not he even gets them anymore. Or if he will come and save me…"

"Do you think you need saving, Ritsuka?"

His fingers slowly rose up to brush the butterfly-shaped bandage (_pinkening in the center_) on his temple. After a moment of silence, he creased up his letter meticulously, evenly.

"…death is something no one can be saved from."

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The stain on the sidewalk between the park's grass still lingered.

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_"What is it about death that fascinates you so much, Ritsuka? Are you fascinated with your own death?"_

_Her eyes shaded by her cropped brown bangs shine so fixated on him and his blank expression. Her coral-smeared lips purse together and protrude in exaggerated interest. She doesn't really mind that he might be mentally unstable or a victim of abuse; he doesn't understand why she pins her short skirts up on his private appointment days._

_Ritsuka snorted, returning to the ceiling. "There's no point in wondering what will happen after I die. I just wonder how I will feel the moment it happens."_

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It might have not been polite. _(But_.) Ritsuka was getting to the bottom of this nonsense.

Whether or not there was a good chance that he could be fired only after the first night.

Where Soubi (this _eccentric_ librarian) was double checking books behind the main desk, the teenager stormed from the stacks where he was previously doing shelf maintenance—slapping the silver butterfly earrings on the desktop near his coworker's elbow, and glaring. Soubi smiled unflinchingly, asking as he examined a small, torn copy of _Goodman Brown_, "…do you need help in the stacks?"

"_Why_ did you give me these things? _What_ kind of game are you playing with me...?" Ritsuka's purple eyes narrowed. "...because I don't want any part of it."

"It isn't a game, Ritsuka." Soubi replied with— _in Ritsuka's opinion_— an annoyingly chipper smile, not looking up from the book in his hands as he lazily flipped to another page, "I want you to pierce me. To mark me as your property. As Ritsuka's property. Nothing would make me happier."

His mouth dropped open. "_You…_" Ritsuka's skin began tingling again, as it had when he first heard the man with the high ponytail laugh, and knotting up with goose bumps at those compassionate and yet _bizarre_ words. He stared in disbelief as the weight of this situation hit him fully. At the other man who had turned to look at him and didn't appear discouraged at all by his reaction. _'Why…?'_

The fact also was that Soubi had barely said two words to him since Ritsuka had clocked in (and then trained by their supervisor Miura-san for the first two hours before she went home, leaving them both alone on the first floor)—and to this point in time (9pm and dead of patron life and scheduled to close in an hour).

And it strangely…_pissed_ Ritsuka off in ways he couldn't express vocally. He couldn't remember ever feeling this _frustrated_.

Ritsuka ran his hands through his short, dark hair, mumbling, shaking his head slowly, "…_this can't be happening…it isn't possible that this guy told me to treat him like an object…like some pervert_…"

This time, Soubi reacted, frowning as if stung. "I want to be controlled by you, Ritsuka. What is so hard to understand? I want you—"

"—_STOP SAYING THAT TO ME! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME!_"

As soon the teenager stopped screaming, he clapped his hands over his mouth. Concerned, Soubi went around the desk as Ritsuka started backing away, bug-eyed and face quickly draining of blood. When the older man came too close, he raced for the right wing of the downstairs book stack. Ritsuka made it about as far as inside the middle row of the stacks before he was caught, their bodies colliding. Ritsuka clung instinctively to the knitted bomber jacket in front of him smelling strongly of tobacco and caramel espresso—the saffron-colored fabric pressing scratchy on his cheek.

"Of course I know you…" Soubi murmured into the hug, cupping the side of the boy's face, finger straying just below the space of the butterfly bandage. "…Seimei told me everything about you." Ritsuka stiffened in his grasp before relaxing somewhat. '_How did he_...?'

"_I don't understand…any of this_…_I don't understand you_..."

The blond man shushed him, touching the back of Ritsuka's burning neck with hurried fingers and with his other hand, brought Ritsuka's palm up to his lips to kiss. The goose bumps grew harder on Ritsuka's body at that brush of the moist, tender skin on Soubi's mouth. All his proper and logical instincts told him to shove this…_weirdo_ away—

(_But._)

—he couldn't find the strength to lean away from him…

…is this what _hypnotism_ felt like…? …was this _surrendering_…?

"Kiss me, Ritsuka."

His small, bandaged hand not held clenched deeper into the jacket, and began to tremble. Timidly, Ritsuka stretched his neck up and closed his eyes. He shrank away a little as a warm, unwonted mouth embraced his, his face flaming red as a _potent_ emotion flourished, orbiting in the pit of his stomach and his nether regions. Ritsuka accepted the weight of Soubi's mouth on his to return the open-mouthed kiss, pushing his mouth up uncertainly but forcefully, closing his lips after a moment.

Soubi chuckled into their kiss, pulling away a moment to tease, "Ritsuka is new to this, I can tell."

"Shut up," Ritsuka snapped, still somewhat dazed by this turn of events. In his overload of feeling and pleasure, he ended up jamming the older man's back up against the nearest stack painfully.

Soubi made no sign of discomfort as they continued where they left off, sliding eager hands, eager tongues together. The younger whimpered muffled behind his lips as those pale, alluring hands delved under the folds of his sweater, mapping out the muscles of his back and shoulders with the precision of a true artist's hands, applying tiny spots of pressure as he went. Ritsuka found that his wrinkled up sweater became too much of a nuisance and discarded it, shivering when Soubi's fingers instead traced the hairless space above his navel.

"Order me to stop if you wish to." Those fingers journeyed lower, as Soubi added lowly with his face buried into his hair, "I don't wish to frighten you away."

"..._d-don't...stop.._."

Ritsuka could feel where Soubi's excitement stirred, urging against their clothes. He lifted himself higher into the other man's arms, clenching the insides of his legs closer to Soubi's waist. He was thankful that he was not the one with their spine to the bookcase. His confidence wavered for a moment when the teenager felt his jeans unbutton, the comfortable material slipping his thighs as Soubi worked them down. When the blond man felt the arms around his neck go rigid, Ritsuka's face hidden in his sweater, he massaged the his scalp slowly and asked if he was alright.

"..._just keep going_..."

Soubi obeyed, this time pushing down Ritsuka's underwear, and observing the sight before him. Despite his slender frame, Ritsuka was reasonably _equipped_— as well as _aroused_. The goosebumps on Ritsuka's forearms apparently even went to skin once unexposed. Soubi's fingers handled the warm member with mellow curiosity, where he touched swelling and reddening further. The very tip of the member beginning to glisten. The older man used the liquid to spread on his fingers before preparing Ritsuka.

At the first and second finger nudging, Ritsuka arched away from it, turning bright red with embarrassment. "-_aah!_"

"It will hurt more if you do not relax," said Soubi mildly, kissing the underside of Ritsuka's tensed jaw. The sensation of being stretched with Soubi's fingers and then Soubi himself made Ritsuka bite the heel of his palm until he was certain that he would break skin but _somehow_... it did not hurt as much as he thought it would after a little while. He was _very _gentle. Soubi waited for the younger to set the pace, moving against him, _into him_, the stack behind them starting to groan from the pendulum.

Ritsuka's fingernails dug abrasively into the high collar of Soubi's pullover as a light tickling sensation coursed through his body, followed by the concentrated intensity of the orgasm swallowing everything else he was feeling. Like ripping away from the silk casing of his physical body, spreading, spreading his sticky wings for the first time— _warm, chrysalis fluid seeping down his thighs_._  
_

.x.

.x.

.x.

_TBC..._

**_

* * *

_**_Before everyone gets out their pitchforks and flamethrowers, I want you to imagine a long walnut-wood table. Yes. On one end is me with beads of perspiration on my brow and fingernails bleeding because I've picked them down to the pale until there was nothing left. On the other is Ritsuka looking very disgruntled back at me, arms crossed over his chest. Imagine me trying to convince him very gently to go along with the shota of this story- this is purely for the sake of entertainment- you would be making many people happy- you might actually enjoy it. Imagine him flat out refusing. Imagine me eventually slamming my palms on the table and demanding that he sleep with Soubi who is a complete stranger in the story. Imagine him again refusing. Imagine me ordering a rum and Coke._

_And that is what has been happening inside my brain for the past five months. End of story. XD_

_Needless to say, my-fictionalized-and-much-more-of-a-prude-than-regular-fanfiction-Ritsuka ceded (once I slipped him a good portion of my rum). Hallelujah. Everyone's happy. Where is the Tylenol?  
_

_I'm sorry about that wait. I really am. I've never had such a problem with trying to update a story. Geez. On top of the inner brain battle was school and everything that goes with it. Same old, I know. I'm crazy because I added another minor on top of my other one. Whatever. As long as it gets me SOMEWHERE in life I guess. Oh, and I caught something nasty and full of virus at my college campus. Seriously, where is the Tylenol? -keels over and dies- Eh. Enough of my bitching. **Loveless **belongs to Yun Kouga (which I can say right now- I update faster than HER. And that is sad.) Anyone still reading has all of my love and praise and more love that is not contagious and cookies and did I mention love? Cause yeah. You are amazing.  
_


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